


Running

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Winchester Angst, Gen, supernatural angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Dean never told anyone about the deal; his life for Sam’s?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running

Some drink to remember, some drink to forget. That’s what Dean was doing, or trying to do. He wanted nothing more than to forget the small amount of time he had left. It wasn’t long now, just a couple of minutes before he would meet his end. As much as he didn’t want his time on Earth to end, this was how he’d always imagined it would be. Not at the end of a deal for his brother’s life, but in a fight. He wanted to go down swinging, fighting for what he believed was right. What was more right than offering up your soul so your family could live?

Sam. He felt lost without his little brother, but it was better this way; Sam not knowing. It was so fucking hard to keep it a secret, but Dean had done it. Nobody knew except for the demon that the deal was struck with.

Not that those around him didn’t ask him left and right what was going on. _Why are you acting so different? I wish you’d talk to me, I’m your brother, damn it!_

He wanted to tell them, he really did. But if he had, they would only try and save him. Dean was past saving, he had been for a long time. He knew that and he accepted it.

With every pull of whiskey, the possible ramifications of his decision drained away. Sam would be devastated, but no more than Bobby.

Bobby was the father John couldn’t be, not that John didn’t try, not that John wasn’t a good man, but his grief was a heavy burden. A burden he insisted on carrying alone. A burden that pulled him from those that needed him the most.

The aged whiskey had long ago lost its burn, but Dean hissed despite that; muscle memory they called it. He just wanted to get drunk enough to lose all feeling in his body. He was about to take another drink when there was a shift in the crisp air. That’s when he felt it, their ascent from Hell.

The bottle fell from his grip as a burst of air blew through the grass, bringing with it the guttural howls of Hellhounds. Goosepimples flared to life, blossoming along Dean’s spine. A surge of fear stomped down his resolve to go down fighting. Gravel crunched under his boots as he turned and ran for the trees, the snarls of the beasts growing louder the closer they got.


End file.
